


The (Un)familiar

by hearteating



Category: Original Work
Genre: Childhood, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearteating/pseuds/hearteating
Summary: Two children grow up in worlds that are not their own.Years later, they meet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toficornottofic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toficornottofic/gifts).



The Hobbses woke up one morning to discover that their child now had a mouth full of tiny, perfect teeth and sharp, watchful eyes. 

Mr. Hobbs, recalling his grandmother’s stories of changelings and how to deal with them, suggested they place this new child in the fire, in the hopes that their real child would be returned to them. Mrs. Hobbs, however, was a modern woman who did not believe in such superstitions, and so they instead paid a visit to their priest.

Had the priest had been older, or more superstitious, or understood children, it is possible that everything might have unfolded quite differently. As it was, however, Father James was newly out of seminary school, with little experience of the world and a face fairly shining with belief in God’s grace. Beyond performing baptisms, the priest had little interaction with children or babies, and so when the Hobbses asked what to do with their strange new child, he admonished them for worrying.

“All children are gifts from God,” he said, a smile of benign condescension on his face as he gazed at the couple. Changelings, to his mind, were simply folk superstitions, and did not truly exist. Father James did not even look at the baby, so sure was he in his belief. Had he done so, he would have shivered at its piercing gaze. Nor did he think too deeply on why the Hobbses appeared to believe that their child had been replaced, and what that might mean. “Care for the child and raise him to be an upstanding member of the Church, and all will be well.”

The Hobbses thanked Father James for his time and went home. They squashed their unease and went about raising their new child as best they could. Mrs. Hobbes fed him on watery porridge and goats milk, as his teeth were too sharp and cut her badly when he tried to suckle him. 

They baptized him Barnaby, for they did not wish to call him by the name of their first child, Abel. Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs held their breaths at the baptism, unsure if the holy water would cause the child to disappear or reveal its true nature. But Barnaby’s skin did not smoke under the blessed water, nor did he cry out. Barnaby, the Hobbses had realized, never cried at all. He merely wrinkled his face in displeasure. Father James praised the child for its good nature, while the other members of the congregation looked at the Hobbses askance. They knew it was not natural for an infant to be so silent. But he had been baptized, and so they could not say he was a demon child or a changeling, for all knew that only humans could be baptized.

Only Mr. and Mrs. Hobbes knew the truth about their son, and they said nothing. Barnaby was not Abel, nor would he ever be, but they had been told to care for him, and so they would do their best.

* * *

Abel’s first memory was of his fairy mother cutting her finger on his tooth. He had been teething, and she was fascinated by both his tears and the sharp sliver of white peeking through his gums. The fairy woman placed her finger against that tooth and caught her soft skin against its edge. She gasped at the pain, and then laughed as she pulled her finger back. Abel quieted as a drop of fairy blood fell into his mouth, making him feel warm and at ease. 

Abel could not realize how unusual it was for a human child to remember something that happened when he was mere months old so clearly, for all fairies had long memories. While there were a few other human children his age raised by fairy parents, they had all been lived the majority of their lives in Faerie also, and their memories were just as long as his. It was not uncommon for one to mention an event that occurred before their first birthday, or to be able to discuss it in some detail.

It was an odd life, although Abel could not know that, having experienced no other. He and the other human children were regarded fondly, almost as pets. Things such as learning to walk, or losing teeth to make way for new ones, or shooting up several inches over a short period of time were the cause for great wonder and joy and the giving of extravagant gifts. On the other hand, injuries and illnesses were regarded with bewilderment or disregarded as some “silly human thing,” and he and the other children had a number of scars and badly-healed broken bones as the result of their playfighting and adventures. Their fairy parents would cosset and forget them by turns, for though they could remember centuries back, the details of their lives, such as whether they had a child at that particular moment, sometimes eluded them.

As he reached his full height, Abel noticed that his parents and the other fairies no longer paid so much attention to him, and instead became preoccupied with new human babies. The situation was much the same with the rest of the children his own age. Abel was not overly bothered—there was plenty of food available, and he and his friends took advantage of their lack of supervision to explore Faerie further. There was so much to see, from the blazing homeland of the phoenixes, to the battlefields of old, to the hazy borders between Faerie and the realm of humans.

It was this last thing that intrigued Abel the most. Though, as a child, he had not often wondered about his human family, he found that he now was incredibly curious about how they were and what they were doing. The possibilities of his other life clouded his thoughts and made even the wonders of Faerie seem insignificant.

As they passed close to the border on their way to a castle made of spider webs and widows’ tears, Abel took his leave of his friends and made his way into the human realm on his own.

* * *

It was commonly agreed amongst the villagers that Barnaby Hobbs was odd. Oh, he did his chores and got on well enough with the other children and went to church every Sunday, but no one forgot how quiet he had been as an infant. Rumors even spread, hastily squashed, that he was a changeling child. How could they not, with the way his large eyes seemed to peer into your soul, his tiny, perfect teeth, his elongated fingers, his unnatural quietness? Only his baptism and regular church attendance prevented rumor becoming action. He was not, the villagers would grudgingly admit, an evil child, but they placed the credit for that with the Hobbses, who had always been respected as a hard-working family.

Barnaby’s parents loved him as best they could, and if he sometimes detected fear or unease in the way they spoke to him, he knew better than to mention it. During his interactions with them, he watched the other villagers, noting the way they moved and spoke, and did his best to imitate them. The other children had been wary of him at first. They were suspicious of his quiet, until he began to tell them the secret things he had seen, such as the flirtation between the baker’s wife and the tailor’s apprentice. Secrets, he learned, were valuable currency.

Truthfully, it was not a bad life, although it was very different from what he remembered of his brief time in Faerie. There were no balls or grand feasts or slain dragons, but humans in their changeability were fascinating. His parents had never tried to push him into the fire, nor did they press his skin with iron, the way he had heard other humans did with changeling children. No, it was not a bad life.

It was, however, a lonely life. Barnaby could not forget that he did not truly belong. There were times when he missed the taste and feel of magic, and humanity began to feel heavy and overwhelming. On these occasions, he would go into the woods and collect firewood, or berries, or trap animals, and enjoy the peace there.

It was on one of these occasions that he met Abel.

* * *

Perhaps it was part of the magic of Faerie. Perhaps it was Fate. Perhaps it was simple coincidence that, despite how far he had roamed in Faerie, Abel traveled only a day in the human realm before meeting his changeling.

It was odd, to unexpectedly meet yourself-who-was-not-yourself. Abel knew that a changeling child had taken his place when he was brought to Faerie, but he had imagined the other-him to be ugly, or somehow _wrong_ , when he imagined him at all. Yet there was his hair, only neatly brushed. There were his shoulders, still broadening, and his stout legs, unscarred. His changeling had the same curved nose as Abel. The main difference, Abel thought, was the creature’s eyes, which were sharp and green, rather than his own soft brown.

The changeling looked at him for a moment.

“Hello Abel,” it said softly. “I’m Barnaby.”

* * *

Barnaby knew who he was the moment he saw him. It was like seeing his reflection in the fountain—himself, only altered. Abel’s hair was longer and his eyes were darker. He had an odd assortment of scars that spoke of a different sort of upbringing than the one Barnaby had experienced. What was familiar, though, was the air of wariness that surrounded Abel, as if he had never felt entirely comfortable.

Barnaby understood that feeling. They both lived in worlds that were not quite meant for them.  
Abel stared at him, and for the first time in years Barnaby could not tell what someone else was feeling. He thought for a moment about what he should do next. Why would a child come back from Faerie?

“Your parents still miss you,” he offered. “If you would like to see them.”

* * *

Abel started at the changeling’s words. On the few occasions he had imagined meeting the being that took his place, he had imagined spite, resentment, or even pleading. Never had he imagined simple politeness.

“Thank you,” he replied. He smiled, a little uncomfortable. Barnaby the changeling mirrored his expression, then turned and began to walk. Abel followed. He noticed that, as quietly as he trod, having been raised by faeries, Barnaby moved without sound, seemingly without effort. Another difference between them.

“How are they?” he asked. “My parents?” Barnaby was silent for a moment.

“They are good people,” he said. “They kept me, though they knew I was a changeling. They go to church every Sunday, and are well thought of by the community. They never forgot you, though they tried their best to hide it from me.”

Abel thought this over. It sounded as though they would welcome him back with open arms. He could come home, get to know them, learn about himself, and settle down in this place. He could live a good life here, he felt. Barnaby seemed content enough.

“Are there…others?” he asked.

“I am the only changeling,” Barnaby replied. “Faeries tend not to place more than one changeling at a time in a village this small. You have siblings, though, if that is what you were asking. Two younger sisters, Mary and Sarah.”

_Sisters_. Abel had sisters in Faerie, and brothers as well, but none had shared his blood. His parents had gone on after he had been taken; they had other children. It should not have been surprising, yet he found that he was unsettled by it nevertheless. He turned these new facts over in his mind. What would these sisters think of him, who had been gone all their lives? They had only ever known Barnaby, his replacement.

After a short while, the trees thinned and Barnaby came to a halt.

“Your parents live in that house,” he said, pointing to where a small house could be seen through the trees. “It’s afternoon, so Father will be out, but Mother and the girls should be there.” He sounded distant.

Abel took a step toward the house, and then another. In only a few moments he would be reunited with the family he had lost when he was only an infant. Maybe he’d have his mother’s eyes and his father’s nose. Maybe there would be tears. He would tell them about his life in Faerie, or maybe they would pretend he had never been taken. He would meet his sisters and the other people. Possibly he would fall in love with one of the young women, marry, and have children with her. It would be a good life, probably. A quiet life.

He felt the future close in on him, and his next step felt impossibly heavy.

“What will you do?” he asked Barnaby. Abel kept his eyes on the house ahead of them.

“I don’t know,” came the reply. “I’m old enough to strike out on my own, though. I’ll be all right.” Abel nodded and took another step. He felt as though his feet were encased in iron.

“Won’t they miss you?” He waited for Barnaby to answer. Would Barnaby want to stay? Would they need to fight for a space in their parents’ home?

“Maybe,” said Barnaby finally. “Not like they miss you. They’re always expecting me to disappear, I think. And if you come home, they’ll be happy. It would be like the trade was reversed.”

“Yeah,” Abel said quietly. He took a deep breath and made a decision. When he exhaled, he felt the heaviness leave him. He turned around.

“Let’s both leave.”

* * *

It wasn’t often that Barnaby was surprised, but Abel had managed it.

“What?” Abel stared past him and nodded.

“Yeah, let’s both leave.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s…I can’t stay here. I can’t live a normal life. I’ve never had a normal life. I wouldn’t know how to do any of the things these people do. I thought I could, but now I’m here, and I can’t.”

“It’s not that hard,” Barnaby offered. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Everyone knew that, when a human child was returned to their family, the changeling disappeared and everything went back to normal. “Your parents will help you. The people will understand.” They might not, actually. Might view Abel with suspicion after spending so long with the faeries. But he didn’t say that.

“They’re not my parents!” Abel burst out. His eyes widened and he repeated himself quietly. “They’re not my parents. I don’t know them. I never did. They’re your parents, they’re Mary and Sarah’s parents. Not mine.”

“So you want to leave?” Barnaby asked. The world suddenly felt very wide. He had always known he would leave, but he had imagined that he would do so alone, when the town or his parents tired of his presence. “With me?” Abel nodded. His jaw was set, Barnaby noticed. 

“Who better to travel with then yourself?” Abel hitched his pack higher on his shoulder. “We can travel the human realm, or go back to Faerie. The world is so large, Barnaby.”

Barnaby thought this over. He would like to see Faerie again. His short glimpse of it as an infant, before he was brought over, itched at his mind. The Hobbses were good people, who had tried their best to love him, but he had never been entirely comfortable. He was too different, too inhuman. Abel recognized that. Possibly Abel felt the same. The chance to not be alone, to be with someone who understood him…

“All right,” he said. “Where do we go first?”


End file.
